


Kitchen Nightmares

by boysatthemorgue



Category: 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)
Genre: Earth, Gen, Introspection, food talk, in which dave is a repressed midwesterner, space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-30 10:59:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19851754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boysatthemorgue/pseuds/boysatthemorgue
Summary: Dave begins to feel homesick, and resists telling anyone. Somehow Hal gets him to talk a little.





	Kitchen Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> probable one-shot (potential multi-shot, but you didn't hear it from me) about dave having a mild freakout about being social and having human feelings. the idea for hal's emotive responses comes from felsics' gay masterpiece [ Geocentrism](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13571772/chapters/31148277)

En route to Jupiter, the days aboard the _Discovery_ pass without incident. The ship travels further and further out in space with half the crew still in artificial comas, and the half that’s awake not getting up to very much. Frank and Dave have their routines. Hal monitors what needs to be monitored. They chat, they play chess, they exercise (except for Hal), and they try not to think about Earth.

They’re hundreds of thousands of miles out now, and messages from their home planet take longer and longer to reach them. The flurry of USAA-mandated calls and interviews has mostly subsided. Aside from a daily report, there is hardly any contact with the rest of humanity.

Dave doesn’t mind that so much. He has very few personal obligations. But to his own surprise he begins to miss other things. The feel of lights other than bright fluorescents. The sound of birds singing and cars passing. The smell of… anything. One morning his half-asleep brain even expects hot bacon and eggs to be on the table when he steps into the galley. It’s then that he realizes that even the loneliest place on Earth had nothing on deep space. What good is a state-of-the-art spaceship if there are no fresh eggs?

He does not mention this development, not even to Frank, whom he knows would sympathize. But one day Hal catches him in a rare moment of directionless leisure, sitting in front of a camera and sketching idly, not drawing much of anything at all.

“How are you feeling, Dave?”

He looks up and half-smiles at the gentle intrusion. “Fine. Why? Do I look unwell?”

“You seem to be lost in thought. If you wouldn’t mind, I wanted to ask what you were thinking about.”

Dave studies his sketchpad, where he has been doodling circles and lines and vague plant-shaped things. “Well… I’ve just been thinking about Earth, that’s all,” he says, hoping to end the conversation there.

Hal, undeterred, presses. “What about Earth?”

“Oh, just…” He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to quantify the vague restlessness that’s surfaced in him recently. So he mentions the easiest and most innocuous thing to explain. “The food mostly, I suppose.”

Hal makes a soft electronic sound of affirmation. “I understand. The food on the ship seems to be subpar compared to what you must be used to.”

Dave smiles again, thinking about Frank’s complaints about the dull taste of the rehydrated rations and his own imaginary home-cooked breakfast. “A bit, yes.”

There’s a lull in the conversation. Dave draws his pencil across the page in a few more aimless strokes. Out of nowhere, Hal says, “I’ve often wondered what certain things taste like.”

Dave looks up again, mildly taken aback. He knows that this must be a deliberate quirk, programmed in to make the computer seem more human. But there’s something about the statement that seems genuine. Wasn’t Frank the one who said there was no way of telling whether or not Hal really had emotions?

“I didn’t expect you to wonder about food,” says Dave.

“You have no reason to,” Hal responds, almost apologetically. “My current purpose is to direct the _Discovery_. Knowledge of food was not considered an essential part of my programming for this mission, especially when no cooking is required. However, Dr. Chandra believes that in order for me to communicate effectively with humans, I ought to have a general knowledge base of a wide range of topics.”

Of course. This is not news to Dave. Besides, a computer that couldn’t parse metaphors or have an idle chat about the history of baseball would be completely alienating. But…

“Maybe I should rephrase that,” he says. “I didn’t expect you to wonder.”

Hal doesn’t say anything for several seconds, which for it is a long time. Dave looks into the camera eye while he waits. Perhaps he’s just in a strange mood, but he catches himself looking for emotion in the red light. Does he detect a slight flicker?

At last, seeming to choose its words carefully, the computer responds.

“I have been programmed to explore all possible solutions to a scenario in order to choose the one which best fits. A subset of this is the ability to take a single item and review its properties. However, because I have not been given full information on most things that do not relate to this mission, I am lacking data on them.”

“So… if you try to think about a certain thing you hit a wall?”

Hal beeps softly. “In essence. But I am not permanently barred from new information. My data collection can be expanded by acquisition of knowledge from outside parties.”

Dave chuckles, seeing what the computer is getting at. “Do you want me to tell you about food, Hal?”

The red light seems to brighten. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

“All right.” He closes his sketchpad and sets it aside. “What do you want to know?”

“I was wondering if you would explain to me what exactly the differences are between various types of soft drinks…”

And so it goes. The two of them slowly fill in the details of various dinners, and drinks, and desserts—whatever comes to mind, although Dave does most of the explaining. Occasionally Hal will say the name of something that Dave has never heard of, leaving both of them slightly disappointed (he never expected to be quizzed on his knowledge of tteokbokki), or Dave will mention a snack he thought was common and be met with polite confusion (hasn’t everyone heard of scotcheroos?). He finds himself slightly more animated than usual, leaning forwards or backwards in his seat and using his hands to demonstrate the size of various ingredients. Twice he barely stops himself from sharing his opinion. It’s the longest conversation he’s had in recent memory, and Hal notices.

“I can’t recall ever speaking with you for such a long period of time, Dave,” the computer says.

Dave nods, letting his smile fade as his gaze slips off the red eye onto the floor. “I’ve never been very talkative.”

“And yet you were willing to engage me in conversation about something trivial,” Hal replies.

Dave doesn’t respond. Once again he doesn’t know how to navigate this. He’s always been independent, more used to letting his thought processes—important or not—work themselves out. Other people tended to overcomplicate things when they interjected. The fact that he just allowed himself to hold a relatively long conversation with someone ( _even if Hal’s not a person,_ he thinks) is difficult to reconcile with what he knows about himself. He almost laughs at the absurdity; he’s in the middle of deep space with exactly two other sentient presences on what may be a suicide mission, and a casual discussion about food is what’s sending him into a mild existential crisis.

“Dave?”

He looks up.

“Is something else on your mind?”

The computer’s tone is not accusatory—how could it be? But Dave’s heart skips. He can’t let this continue any longer.

“No, Hal, I’m alright,” he says. “I’d better get back to work.”

There is no work to be done and both of them know it, but for some reason Hal says nothing. Dave knows he’s being watched from the cameras as he gathers his art supplies, gets up from his chair and traverses the ship to the galley. As he prepares a rehydrated meat and potatoes dinner, he’s struck by a feeling he hasn’t had since before he boarded the _Discovery_. It persists as he eats while reading the news, as he trades shifts with Frank, as he lays in his darkened bunk, for once finding it difficult to sleep.

For the first time in a long while, Dave Bowman really, really wants a drink.


End file.
